


A Dreamless Sleep

by Sky_kiss



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Bittersweet, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Multi, Platonic Cuddling, The shipping is very light, They need it, the gods three punching bags help each other through their various emotional traumas, this is absolutely just an excuse to get them all to cuddle, you might have to squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss
Summary: The Starscourge is defeated. Their callings are fulfilled. And yet, despite the prophecies words, they do not immediately find peace. Or: Bahamut's three favorite punching bags find a way to help each other cope in the afterlife.





	A Dreamless Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Episode Ardyn hurt. It hurt a lot. So I'm dealing with that the only way I know how. Cracky cuddle fic. Not explicitly romantic. More just...three broken people supporting one another. And I love Aera but. Wanted to focus on these three for now.

They are three pieces of the same whole, destinies inextricably linked. Ardyn is born to carry the Scourge. The man he was before, the healer, had not mattered and so Bahamut had seen it erased. He is renamed Adagium. 

Lunafreya is fated to die the moment she is born. She is light and she is hope and she is that final blessed ray of sunshine before the long dark. Her own wishes and ambitions are not in the interest of Bahamut’s story and so he sees them erased.

And Noctis, dear Noctis, is barely allowed to live at all. The Chosen King’s life is but a series of tragedies (she supposes the same can be said for all of them), loosely woven together until he is led to his death. Bahamut does not care for the boy’s suffering or his pain. Both are subsumed in favor of his duty. 

It is an odd thing, fatalistic even, to have one’s fate so preordained. When death finally comes, when their callings are fulfilled...

...it is a relief. Luna brings her knees to her chest, entirely alone in this new world, and weeps. She cries for Noctis and the pain he has yet to endure. She cries for the Accursed and the agonies he has suffered. She cries for the futility of their lives, an end written from the beginning. 

She cries because after centuries, millenia, this tragedy is finally coming to an end. And when it does? The three of them will greet the dawn together.  
____

Ten years. Luna spends ten years in limbo. She walks the emptied streets of Insomnia. She is a ghostly cliche, she thinks, all ashen skin and pale hair. The afterlife is lonely. She is tethered to the material plane by two sources: her king and her killer. Luna visits them both. 

Noctis continues to sleep. She will linger by the crystal for as long as she is able, watching over him. Sometimes she speaks, reads him the stories he always preferred. Sometimes she paints him visions of their future. She no longer prays for him. What strength is there in faith when the resolution is already set in stone? She offers him comfort instead. They will have a home together when he finally joins her. They will have the life they should have known outside the influence of gods and daemons. She will finally, finally, hold him in her arms. 

But that day is some time off. And there are times the bitter outweighs the sweet. In those moments, she will seek out the Accursed. He sleeps too. Sprawls across the throne and drifts for weeks or months at a time. He wants this to end just as badly and stirs only to repel the Kingsguard. 

Or to speak with her. Ardyn Lucis Caelum regards her with half lidded eyes, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. The Accursed makes a show of inspecting his nails, “Ah, Lady Lunafreya. So kind of you to visit; I receive so few guests these days. Certainly none with your excellent pedigree.” She does not respond and so he pushes on, petty in his search for a reaction, “You’re looking better than last I saw you.” 

“I’m afraid I cannot say the same, Chancellor.” 

“My, aren't we catty?” but he grins at her, “And do call me Ardyn, pet,” he drums his fingers against the throne, “Perhaps ‘my king’ if you’d like to feign some deference.” He is tired. It’s marked in the slump of his shoulders; in the strange golden eyes that are always a touch too expressive. He scrubs a hand over his face, never looking at her, “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?” 

“I find myself with an abundance of time. I suppose I should thank you for that,” she links her hands at the small of her back, makes a show of inspecting the throne room. It had never been her favorite; like so much of Insomnia it is all sharp angles and darkness. Ardyn’s own...peculiar additions to the decor have not helped matters. Luna stares into the dead eyes of her doppleganger. The body is garishly twisted and she arches a brow, “Are these necessary?” 

“I thought they brought the room together,” in a rare show of deference, he dispels the corpses. He watches her with his odd eyes, “Do tell me, spirit. Have you been to see our king?” 

“I have.” 

He huffs, “Ah, she keeps us in anticipation. Well, how is dear Noct? Still sleeping his future away?” 

“He will arise when the time is right.” 

They both know the unflinching truth of that statement. Ardyn sighs. He is a tall man; taller than any of the recent kings of Lucis. It leaves him looking overlarge on the throne even as he slouches. The Accursed pats the seat beside him. There is no need for excess hostility between them. They are, after all, caught in the same limbo. Unable to play their parts until Noctis returns. Ardyn closes his eyes, plays as if he intends to lapse back into his slumber. 

Instead he says, “Oh, Lunafreya. Did you ever think it would take this long?” 

She did not. She considers taking his hand, longing for the simple comfort of a physical touch. They are both starved of it. Luna shakes her head, “No. Though...my own feelings matter little.” 

“Less than little,” he smiles, and she wonders if he even sees her. There’s a far off quality to his stare. Consulting a memory more than a ghost, “That curse, I fear, is shared between us.” He tips his hat down over his face, “Feel free to stay awhile, pet. Perhaps it will prove the impetus the king requires.” 

So she stays.  
_____

Eight years take their toll. His sanity is badly eroded but there are still...flashes of the true Ardyn. The man and not the mantle he has assumed. He sits across from her now, a bottle of wine set between them. She cannot drink and yet he insists on this. It is proper etiquette, if nothing else, and so Luna teases her fingers over the rim of her glass. She likes to pretend she can feel the crystal. Ardyn pretends he can feel the effects of the wine. 

They are both liars. 

“What will you do, Ardyn?” he arches a brow at her sudden question. She continues, “Once we are free from our calling?” 

“Assuming your dearly beloved ever sees fit to rouse himself.” 

She smiles, “Of course.” 

Ardyn seems to consider her words a moment. Eventually, he shrugs, “I cannot say. You’ll forgive me if I feel some apprehension towards the future. Mine has not been...pleasant,” he finishes what’s left of his wine and pours himself another glass. His face, odd and handsome, contorts in obvious displeasure, “Perhaps I shall find us a decent bottle of wine, hmm? Regis had abysmal taste.”

It is a safe answer hiding his more genuine concerns. She nods and leads him to more neutral ground, banal conversation. She tells him of her trip to Angelgard and that seems to set his mind at ease. There are glaives on the island. They will ensure Noctis’ safety. She tells him of her own home in the afterlife (she cannot bring herself to stay in the castle alone): a small apartment on the east side of the complex. 

“I liked the sunlight,” Luna says, chewing her lower lip between her teeth. “Every morning it cuts across the bed. It’s silly but...it makes me feel safe. Warm.” 

“Not silly at all, dearest.” Silence stretches between them. It is not as unpleasant as it once was; in many ways she finds it comforting. When he finally speaks his voice is uncharacteristically gentle, “I should like to be myself again, I think. No more daemons; no stolen memories. Only me.” He chuckles, “You see, that is silly too.” 

Her heart aches, “No, Ardyn. It's not at all.”  
_____

The ninth year nearly breaks them. 

Lunafreya is content with her own fate. It is not fair but what is these days? What she cannot stand is the crushing darkness. What she cannot stand are the thousands, the millions, dead because the gods refuse to act. Everything is ordained and everything is on their timetable and she is…

Lost. Furious. She sits with her head in her hands, back to the crystal, and wishes she could find the tears. She’s tired. She’s so tired. 

Ardyn will not speak of his own imprisonment but she know he’s tired too. Sleep does not help them. There are too many nightmares waiting there in the dark. Ardyn whispers names she does not recognize, thrashing and whimpering when he is usually so still. Luna will curl with her knees to her chest in her own lonely bower and think of Leviathan. Sometimes she will relive the bite of the Ardyn’s knife but...that is a rarity. More often she thinks of her fading flesh. She recalls the pain of her last few months and the crushing powerlessness which had categorized her waking moments. 

She is just as powerless now. 

She closes her eyes and wonders if Noctis still dreams in the Crystal. And, if he does, if those dreams are pleasant. 

In her heart, she knows the real answer. Luna chooses to believe the lie.  
______

Noctis awakens. 

She is seated beside Ardyn when it happens, feels the shift in energy. Luna rests her hand over the Accursed’s, forgetting she cannot touch him. She wishes she could. That little contact, that small affection, would make all the difference in the world. He offers her a bleary smile and the relief is...choking. She does not think they could have survived another year.

Noctis will stand before the Accursed. Noctis will kill him. 

Noctis will give his life. The line of Lucis will end. 

All those in thrall to darkness shall know peace.  
_____

Bright light. Sharp enough to burn even with his eyes screwed shut. The Accursed brings a hand up, instinct cause him to turn onto his side. He wants to get away from it; he wants to go back to sleep. Fingertips play across his temple before smoothing back into the wild mass of his hair. 

They are delicate. The stranger’s skin is warm, scented with a mixture of (honey, vanilla, lemon) gentle fragrances, lightly sweet. Ardyn’s brow furrows. The stimuli is difficult to process. He has had two thousand years to revel in blissful numbness or agony. Pleasure is foreign. Nails scrape over his scalp and he groans, nuzzling into the touch like some great cat. 

The stranger laughs. It is a delicate sound, warm and feminine and soothing. Her thumb smoothes over the rise of his cheek before falling away, “Ah, so you are awake.” 

Lady Lunafreya; he recognizes her now. Her voice is naturally lower than his own oracle’s, even if her features are achingly similar; he will not praise the Draconian for many things but he chose his favored daughters well. Ardyn hums, slowly opening his eyes. The young lady’s expression echoes their last fateful encounter: Lunafreya watches him with pity, with the affection of a true healer and, most importantly, with understanding. 

Perhaps not forgiveness, but certainly understanding. He takes her hand from his face, chuckling as he presses as chaste kiss to her knuckles, “You’ll find I’m every bit as surprised, my dear. That last encounter with your beloved felt rather...final.” The gentle quirk in her lips says she takes at least some measure of satisfaction in that. Fair play, he supposes. He had not been particularly gentle himself. The Oracle resumes her earlier game, stroking his hair. He stares up into her face, voice uncharacteristically soft, “It is done then? Is my calling finally fulfilled?” 

Ah, but she is a radiant creature. If the Caelum line is starlight and darkness, then the Nox Fleuret are sunlight given flesh. She smiles, gentle, “Yes.” 

Relief washes over him. So sharp, so visceral, that he nearly chokes. It is done; it is over. He is free to live as himself again. Not the villain Izunia and not the bastardization the Draconian had pushed. Only Ardyn. Only his voice and only his memories playing through his head. 

Lunafreya continues to play with his hair. It should be Aera, he thinks, but he is grateful it is not. Luna’s presence is calming, grounded, in contrast to her ancestress’ more mercurial nature. He is already drifting back towards sleep when he finally manages to ask his question. 

“Why are you still here, my lady?” 

“We are here,” she says, gentle in her correction. He follows her gaze across the room. Noctis is seated at a sparsely decorated vanity, chin resting his hand. The young king is sleeping, peaceful in a way he never managed in life. “To welcome you.” 

“A pretty answer. Though less illuminating than I might have liked.” 

“Your life was spent in darkness. The gods… the Draconian was not merciful. And your calling was an isolated one,” and bless her fool heart, she means it. Lunafreya presses her palm flat over his chest, “We will not let you start this life alone.” 

It is an odd thing. Staring up into her lovely face, earnest and so youthful, he has never felt so lonely.  
_____

The first few months of his new life are...lacking. 

After everything else he does not desire some grand manor. He takes a small home for himself, an apartment not so dissimilar to what Luna had described. He fills it with books and wine and all the beautiful things he missed during his mortal life. He revels in his restored senses; in life he had been a tactile man and he delights in experiencing various textures again. 

And still, he cannot help but feel isolated. The few souls he stumbles across are lost in their own bliss. There is no weight on their shoulders; they frown when they see him. What a dour creature, they say. What a dark spot on their otherwise pastoral existence. 

The nights are the worst. Ardyn sleeps with the sheet tangled about his legs, expression contorted in pain. His mind is his own during his waking hours but at night? There are a thousand, a million, different lives and memories crammed in his skull. The daemons are no longer with him but he remembers. He remembers the feel of them slinking beneath his skin. He remembers the feel of their nails scraping against his consciousness and he remembers their howls. 

He awakens covered in sweat and shaking. 

Ardyn drags his hands through his hair. Some days he wishes for his prior numbness.  
_____

“Do you dream, Noct?” 

It is a soft question for the man. Noctis is still learning to justify the differences between Ardyn, the healer, and Ardyn, the tormentor. He does not wear half as many layers in the afterlife and he keeps his hair longer. Ardyn Lucis Caelum looks more struggling poet than potential king. 

They are seated together in Luna’s personal solarium. His queen is absent, a loss he always feels so keenly, but there are little traces of her strewn about the room. A sweater from last night thrown across the back of a chair. The book she’s reading, neatly dog eared, still resting on the coffee table. It makes these few moments of separation easier. It never quite silences the little voice in the back of his, the one which whispers this just a dream, a reprieve before they are all pitched back into hell, but it helps. Noct shifts in his seat, lips pursed, “You came here to talk about dreams? Can’t say I would have guessed that.” 

“Indulge an old man,” for the first time he notices the bags rimming his eyes. The right corner of his mouth ticks up, “Please.” 

The truth is he’d prefer not to talk about it. Sure, everything is pretty close to perfect now. He’s free to live his life; he’s finally allowed to be with the woman he loves. It’s just...the echoes. It’s all of the past bleeding over into his present. Noct chews the inside of his cheek, “Yeah. Yeah, I dream.” 

“They’re not...pleasant? Are they?” 

He thinks of his father’s death. He think of Luna. He can still feel his ancestors’ weapons tearing him apart. And that feeling, almost like drowning. The realization that there was never any choice. There was no way out. There was no help coming no matter how frightened you were. 

Noctis swallows, “No. They uh...they’re not.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, “Luna does her best. She tries but...it’s not like she has it any easier, you know?” 

“I know,” Ardyn’s smile is not bitter. It’s just sad. Perhaps nostalgic is the word. 

“You’re not doing so well yourself,” he doesn’t phrase it as a question. It’s fact. 

“No. It is an odd thing, really. We should be allowed to put it behind us. And yet…” 

“It’s there. That feeling? Knowing you’re not in control.” 

“That no one will properly understand everything you’ve gone through. Yes.” 

They are bound together, he thinks, the three of them. In all the history of the world, they are the only three who will understand. Luna is still too polite to say it and...well, this version of Ardyn also seems too nice but Noctis isn’t afraid. The Astrals? Bahamut? They’d fucked them. All of them. And shit, shared trauma isn’t the ideal bonding agent but...it’s a start. He knows, on some instinctive level, that there is one way for them to move past their hurt. Together. They must stand together.

Noctis scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, glancing towards the door, “You should stay. Luna will be home soon and uh...you should stay.” 

Ardyn looks as if he wants to argue. It’s telling that he never does.  
_____

They reach a tentative arrangement. Ardyn will move into one of the palace’s spare suites. If one of them, any of them, have a nightmare they will seek each other out. They will talk. They will work through it and they will move forward. It’s a pretty theory in practice. 

The execution is less smooth. The conversations soothe them but they don’t solve the underlying issues. Noctis awakens from his sleep screaming more times than he cares to admit. Ardyn...prefers to keep the particulars to himself. 

“We’re a sorry lot,” Ardyn laughs and maybe he means it. He holds up his wine glass in salute. They’ve started taking their dinners together. It feels like it helps. They talk about their days. They talk about their lives. They are free to share the struggles of the old world. It’s nice. It feels good. 

Luna toasts him, smile broad and genuine, “Perhaps we are. But I could not ask for finer company.” 

“Such flattery, ladyship. Such a silver tongue.” 

Noct snorts, “One of her many gifts. Even when she’s rude, Luna sounds like an angel.” 

“Hush, Noctis,” there’s a hint of color in her cheeks. It pairs well with the mischief in eyes, “And I take offense: I am never rude.” 

She’s met with a chorus of: “You’re full of it, Luna” and “I beg to differ, dearest.”  
____

It is patently ridiculous to think the afterlife has something so trivial (Ardyn’s opinion, and Noct had very nearly kicked him out of the palace) as videogames and yet. Here there are. The sofa is really too small for the three of them. Noct seats himself on the floor, head leaned back against his queen’s knees. Luna strokes his hair as he plays. They have no vested interest in the game. 

It’s the company they refuse to forfeit.

Sometimes, depending on how much wine they’ve had, Luna will tuck herself against Ardyn’s side. The man had stiffened the first time (Noct wondered if his brain had just short circuited, honestly; he’d just sat there, wide eyed and silent, for a good minute and a half). He’s a more comfortable brace when she’s reading and the proximity means there’s enough room for Noctis to join them on the couch. 

There are half a dozen rational arguments that could be made. There are three of them in the entirety of the palace. They could find a larger sofa. Hell, they could find three seperate sofas and just jam them together in the same room. It’s an easy fix. 

It’s just...none of them suggest it. Ardyn shuffles a bit to make room for Luna and she sits with her legs draped over Noct’s lap. It’s...warm and comfortable and...weirdly safe? He’s not sure why that should matter here of all places but...it does. When you spent your whole life with a target on your back it was a nice change of pace.  
______

They fall asleep like that once. The three of them jammed together on the couch. Noctis prides himself on his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, but...even he’s willing to admit it’s pretty damn uncomfortable. His neck feels stuck. He’s fallen asleep with his head on Luna’s shoulder and...the contortion necessary to make that possible boggles the mind. 

The television is still on. The game’s main menu is playing a song on loop. It breaks the monotony of Luna’s breathy huffs (she does not, and she is most insistent about this, snore). Ardyn grumbles, shifting. His voice is thick with sleep, “For such a pretty little thing she can make an ungodly racket.” 

“Don’t let her catch you saying that. She’s small but she’s strong.” 

The older man snickers. It occurs to him that they are probably both awake enough to go their separate ways. Noct could show him to the door. He could carry Luna to bed. They just...don’t. Noct blinks, fairly certain Ardyn’s smoothed a hand over his hair. He loves when Luna does it and finds it's no less soothing when the hands are far larger and calloused, “I shall take that under advisement, Noct. Go back to sleep.” 

Ardyn’s hand is still in his hair the next morning. Luna’s face is still tucked in the other man’s shirt and Noct is tangled around her like some overly large cat. It should almost certainly register as weird.

No one says a damn thing. 

It’s the first night that each of them sleeps soundly.  
______

They keep making excuses until they don’t. Dinner turns into staying the night. Passing out on the couch turns into just taking the plunge and inviting him to bed. It’s the best and easiest way to feel safe in this giant, empy, goddamn world and so they might as well take advantage of it. 

And hey, it’s not that different from camping with the guys. Except that Luna is soft and pliant and feels...wonderful. Whether she’s spooned up behind him or curled up in his arms. And...well, Ardyn’s Ardyn. He doesn’t really mind the man and he smells a thousand times better than the guys (maybe on par with Specs). The few times he falls asleep between the two of them is a trip (Ardyn isn’t badly muscled for a guy his age but he’s lanky as shit and Luna’s not exactly...well padded). It’s like a rock and a hard place only it’s...two clingy humans with elbows sharp enough to cut glass. 

But he doesn’t complain. They never complain. 

For whatever reason, this works. And it may not work in the future and it may not work for long but...it’s a placeholder. It’s a way to feel safe. It’s a way for them to cope with the hurt and work through it. Noct closes his eyes. Luna is snoring. Ardyn is snoring (a side effect of the wine, Noct’s learned). It’s loud and someone is jabbing him in the ribs with their elbow. 

And he’s comfortable. He hugs his bride to him more tightly. He finds Ardyn’s hand and squeezes it. 

They do not dream and if they do it's a simple fix. They’ll curl more tightly around each other until the sensation fades. They’ll remind each it’s over. Their calling is fulfilled. 

They will greet the dawn together.


End file.
